Free Can't Buy Me Love by Beth K. Vogt

a replacement dress . . . I mean, I can’t wear a look-alike dress, can I? And I found an amazing dress. It’s a designer gown and won’t be in the stores until next year—”
    â€œBellamy, we understand.” Her father tapped the table with his ballpoint pen. “The dress is beautiful. How much did it cost?”
    Just say it.
    â€œTwenty thousand dollars.”
    â€œTwenty thousand—” Her mother’s voice trailed off as her mug hit the table with a clunk, liquid sloshing over the rim.
    Her father rose to his feet, pushing his chair back. “How on earth did you spend that kind of money on a dress? A dress ?”
    â€œDad, it’s one-of-a-kind—and I didn’t realize it cost that much until the saleswoman rang it up—”
    â€œYou agreed to buy that dress without even asking how much it cost?”
    â€œYes, sir.” Even as she wanted to shrink back in her chair, Bellamy forced herself to maintain eye contact with her father.
    â€œBellamy Hillman, how could you buy something as important as a wedding dress without looking at the price tag—”
    â€œNow, Keith—”
    â€œDon’t ‘Now, Keith’ me, Barb! It’s bad enough the Stantons are subsidizing the wedding to begin with. But now this daughter of ours just blew all our money on some ridiculous amount of lace! I mean she’s pulled some stunts, I admit it. Dyeing her hair that garish red color . . . throwing away five thousand dollars on that clunker of a car when she was sixteen because she liked the color—”
    Bellamy bit down on her bottom lip as, once again, her previous brash choices were paraded in front of her.
    â€œâ€”but this . . . this . . .”
    â€œI’m sorry!” Bellamy stood up, the chair behind her clattering to the floor. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am! It was a mistake—I know it. I just wanted to look beautiful . . . perfect . . . for my wedding day. And now I’m not even getting married because Reid and I broke up. . . . All I can say is I’m sorry. I’ll pay you back every single dollar. I promise.”
    â€œBellamy—” Her mother reached across the table.
    â€œI mean it. I’ll pay you back—and the Stantons, too, because some of it’s their money. I’ve already canceled things—the venue, the florist—so that will help some.”
    â€œYour father’s upset, that’s all.”
    â€œI know. I let him down. And Reid. Everyone. But I’ll figure out how to pay you all back as soon as I can.”
    â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢Â 
    Seven thirty.
    Usually by this time every day, he and Bellamy had talked at least twice—and sent each other a dozen texts. Thinking about you texts. I love you texts. I just had a thought about the wedding texts.
    Reid tossed his phone up on his dresser, placing his keys next to it. He loosened and pulled off his navy-blue tie and then shrugged out of his suit jacket, throwing them on the end of his bed instead of hanging them in his closet.
    With a groan, he collapsed on his bed, the mattress bouncing beneath his weight.
    Why hadn’t Bellamy contacted him? Not a single text or voice mail. Was she really expecting him to call her—and say what? He wasn’t the one who’d splurged on a dress and skewed their wedding finances.
    Money . Funny how a five-letter word could spin your world out of control.
    He’d fought his way out of self-induced debt years ago—clearing dirty dishes and half-full glasses of soda or wine from tables stained with sauces. He’d endured insignificant tips and irritable customers. Watched his friends graduate two years ahead of him while every night he went home smelling of the restaurant kitchen, his feet and back aching. He’d sworn he’d never, ever, ever owe anyone another cent. All the while, he had to